


From a Basement on a Hill

by smokingbomber



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Basically random junk that's too small to make its own entries, Cutscenes, Drabble Collection, Flash Fic, Multi, Shorts, Trash Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9477557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokingbomber/pseuds/smokingbomber
Summary: A collection of shorts, flash fic and drabbles, done for tumblr prompts or because drunk or whatever. Most if not all of these are on smokingbomber dot tumblr dot com.





	1. Jalopy: Ami, Michiru

“I can fix it!” insisted Ami, wiping sweat off her forehead and getting axle grease there for her troubles. Michiru just sighed, sitting on the hood of the old car and looking down at her fellow water-oriented senshi as she rolled out from underneath it.

She crossed her legs and reached up behind her head to tie her hair back, and slid off the car, then crouched next to Ami. “The question is, should you? It’s a jalopy. A /beater/. A *heap*. It’s been sitting in the backyard of an old man’s house for forty years, was a lemon in the first place, hasn’t been driven in twenty, and the gasoline’s been rotting in the tank while the rest of it rusted. Even in its so-called prime, it wouldn’t have gone much over seventy in the first place.”

“I know it’ll never be fast. I know it has design flaws. I know a lot of its parts will need to be replaced entirely. But I can make it work and I can make it pretty and once Haruka sees it she might let me help her work on some of hers!” insisted Ami heatedly. “Just because she finally trusts me in the field doesn’t mean she really trusts my expertise–”

“Why do you need her to?” asked Michiru, patient and reasonable, mildly curious. “You don’t have to impress everyone at everything.”

“Because our teams need to get along better. Our teams need to be one team. I want Usagi-chan to be happier.” Her pretty, delicate face was desperately earnest.

Michiru regarded her silently for a long moment.

“Okay, tell me what you need.”


	2. Firepit: Makoto, Nephrite

“So why are we skipping out on the haunted house, again?” asked Makoto, arm linked through Nephrite’s, wearing half regular clothes and half the Disney Princess costume she’d made – the other half of it being a ridiculously long skirt utterly unsuited to trekking through the woods. “Chibiusa will be disappoint.”

“Zoi will keep her entertained,” Nephrite said breezily, wearing the full costume she’d made for him – but that’s because Restoration-era court clothes for guys are a lot easier to hike in.

He pulled her into a clearing, and her eyes lit up. Fairy lights and banked embers in a firepit, the scent of barbeque, a cloth spread on the ground with cushions, champagne in a silver pail of ice, covered dishes and plastic plates and utensils, and the makings of s'mores. “A private Halloween night for the Belle of the ball and her dashing Beast sounded like a better idea,” he murmured into her ear.


	3. Pokemon: Mamoru Chiba

“No–” whispered Tuxedo Kamen, hunkering down behind one of the HVAC units on the roof of one of the Mugen Academy buildings. He looked up at the roiling sky as all hell threatened to break free, and his gut clenched. “One more. Just– just one last– gotta–”

A misting drizzle polluted the sky with a haze of luridly refracted light, and the storm grew darker as the earth protested beneath him, waving the skyscraper around like a pool noodle. “–catch them–” he muttered, pulling his cape up to shield himself and Chibimoon.

As the world ended, Mamoru finally caught Mewtwo.


	4. Raxacoricofallapatorius: Jadeite, Chibiusa

“So if there’s a senshi for every planet,” Jadeite posited reasonably, peeling grapes to put in the bowl for the haunted house, “there’s gotta be a Sailor Raxacoricofallapatorius.”

“That’s not a real planet,” Chibiusa informed him haughtily, pouring olive oil on the boiled ramen in another bowl.

“How do you know, have you BEEN to every planet? I don’t think so. The universe is infinite or whatever.” He popped a grape in his mouth and squished it between his front teeth, earning him grape juice down his shirt. He frowned.

“Have you MET my dad? I watched all of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visual reference: http://blog.smokingbomber.com/post/149124355747/fadesinthesun-drew-this


	5. Ashtray: Hotaru, Motoki

"I didn’t know you smoked,“ came a very serious, very young voice from behind Motoki.

Of course he startled and dropped the cigarette he was contemplating morosely. Of course it landed on his leg, and of course panicking and flailing to brush it off only put a longer burn-hole in his trouser leg.

He stomped on it, coughing, and turned around, his face a mixture of defensive shame and irritation– but it was only Chibiusa’s friend, Hotaru. Oh god, Chibiusa’s friend.

"I don’t,” he said between coughs. “Reiko broke up with me.”

"Maybe,“ she said primly, "it’s because you smoke.”


	6. 7-11: Jadeite, Artemis

Scraping the heel of his sneaker against the asphalt in front of the 7-11, Jadeite eyed a caterpillar creeping up a blade of grass. He noisily sucked at his Slurpee, then leaned his head against the lally column holding up the overhang. “Too hot,” he complained.

"Try having fur,“ Artemis mumbled, splayed flat on the sidewalk in the shade next to him.

The blond Shitennou, curls plastered to the back of his neck, looked at the white cat like he was insane. "Your pain does not invalidate my pain,” he retorted.

Artemis sank claws into his ankle. “Now it doesn’t.”


	7. Circumspect: Haruka, Minako

They’d been in there for twenty minutes. Mamoru looked at his pocketwatch, and Ami still had her keyboard on her lap, poised to start typing. Both their heads jerked up when they heard Minako.

"Why are you being circumloquatious?” she demanded.

“You mean circumlocutious. I’m not talking. I can’t be,” said Haruka, not turning around.

“No, that’s the Picard borg, and you got it wrong anyway, his name is Lactatious,” corrected Minako, crossing her arms and looking away again. “I’m talking about you being too damn circumflex to even talk about this. I /am/ in charge, you know.”

“No, our Princess is. You can’t order me around. Besides, circumflex is the diameter of your bicep,” retorted Haruka. “And his name is Location.”

Meanwhile, Mamoru’d finally opened the bag of popcorn and was absolutely riveted, on the edge of his seat, listening to the bug Ami’d put under the table. Ami was wincing as she took down every word they said.

“I’m her second in command and you KNOW she just wants everyone to get along, I have to cope with making that /happen/. And she loves them. So you can chill the hell out. Also, the diameter of your bicep is the circulate. I’ll give you Location. That sounds legit,” Minako said so grudgingly that the two eavesdroppers could hear her chewing the words before she spit them out.

“Circulate just means non-religious,” Haruka told her disparagingly, finally glancing over her shoulder, but not unfolding her arms. “Whatever. What the hell do you actually mean, anyway?”

“You being too careful to gimme any solid statements because you think you’re gonna give something away,” came Minako’s sulky voice as she sank in her chair, scowling.

“Oh! You mean synecdoche!” Haruka blurted, sitting up and snapping her fingers.

They both looked up at a slamming sound from above their heads, then looked at each other, nodded, and held their henshin pens high in the air. As they called out their commands, loud running footsteps got louder and louder.

“VENUS STAR POWER, MAKE UP!”

“URANUS STAR POWER, MAKE UP!”

Then they stood there, swords out and challenging expressions on their lovely faces, waiting for the door to burst open.

It did, opening with such force that it bounced off the wall.

Sailor Mercury stood there, eyes wild, hands in fists at her sides and feet planted apart, chest heaving with exertion.

They stared at her, and she took in an immense breath.

As Tuxedo Kamen appeared behind her, fingers in his ears, Ami screamed out, “CIRCUMSPECT! FUCKING CIRCUMSPECT! AAAAAGGHGHHGGH!”


	8. Jiggery-Pokery: Rei, Setsuna

Rei leaned on the back of Setsuna’s chair, looking over her shoulder. “But /why/ doesn’t it work without a thermos of tea and a humidifier? It literally makes no sense.”

“Look,” the tallest of the Senshi aside from Mamoru said, not looking away from the delicate operations she was performing. “Are you a time traveller?”

“No,” Rei admitted. Then paused. “Technically, ye–”

“No,” Setsuna told her. “So don’t question my jiggery-pokery. Anyway it’s an /ultrasonic/ humidifier’s piezo-electric transducer and vibration membrane. And tannins.”

Rei was silent for a moment. “So you’re putting tea in a humidifier.”

Setsuna stopped, sighing. “Yes.”


	9. Poison: Usagi, Mamoru

"Really?“ asked Mamoru dubiously, then leaned back and repeated it for effect. ”/Really/?“

Usagi shifted in his lap, turning around to straddle him and bracing her little hands, palms flat, against his chest. She scowled dangerously at him, then bared her teeth with adorable ferocity. "YES, Mamo-chan. Really! Carrots are poison! I read it online! WebMD says it increases the risk of cancer! CARROTS ARE BAD FOR YOU!”

This, of course, was occasion for sideeye and google. He took out his phone, careful not to dislodge her, then squinted. “If you smoke, inhale asbestos, or get angioplasty. Nice try, Usako.”


	10. Paltry: Usagi, Mamoru

"Okay, now use it in a sentence.“

Usagi looked up woefully at her boyfriend, pawing at her notebook page fitfully. "Isn’t spelling it enough?”

"Nope!“ Mamoru said, leaning his chin in his hand and looking like he could stay there for a week. "Good job, though.”

Slightly mollified by the compliment, the Senshi of Mystery puffed her cheeks out and frowned. “…Kunzite writes paltry about my Mamo-chan.”

His ears turned red, but to his credit, the Prince of the Earth didn’t even smirk. “Paltry excuse for a definition.” He paused and finally sat up. “Also, I want to see it.”


	11. Forty: Kunzite, Luna

Kunzite and Luna sat across the table from each other, the can equidistant from them on the kitchen table.

They were silent for quite some time as they regarded it. It was, after all, open and empty.

It was Luna who broke the silence first. “But who?”

"The Princess is the only one who’s been here today,“ Kunzite said flatly, closing his eyes. "The more important question is /why/.”

"You don’t mean they’re fighting, do you?“ Luna asked, stricken; she pushed herself up, paws on the tabletop. "She’ll get sick on top of it!”

"No. Why a /forty/, for godsake?“


	12. Pokemon: Zoisite, Chibiusa

"Good, good. Level five means you get to pick a team,” said Zoisite, feet locked around the back of the balcony railing’s bars as he swirled the pokeball faster and faster.

Chibiusa frowned at her phone, which Mamo-chan had finally bought for her the day before. “What team should I pick?”

"Well, the different teams purportedly operate different ways. For example–“

"No!” said Chibiusa impatiently. “What teams are THEY on?”

Zoisite’s eyes glinted. “Ah, I see. Mamoru’s Instinct, Usagi’s Valor.”

A stubby little finger hovered over yellow, and Zoisite caught her hand. “Pick blue,” he said sweetly. “Annoy them both.”


	13. 3 August 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mamoru's birthday in 2015. Background: the middle of the Dark Kingdom arc in a mixed-universe setting, which also includes Puella Magi Madoka Magica. This is a cutscene from an RPG, so there are other people's OCs mentioned in it as well.

He'd texted Miss White the night Madoka got dragged into a Witch fight, the night he talked to Kyouko and came into the possession of some disturbing information about her: a simple 'I need to ask you some stuff'. Not even a 'we need to talk'. He hasn't heard back yet, but, well -- he almost wasn't expecting to. So many of the people he was running into, was meeting, was getting invested in -- so many of them have secrets so much worse than his.

The past few days, Mamoru's been avoiding people in general, but talking to Madoka if she's needed to talk, texting people back if they texted him, facilitating anything he could facilitate without actually dealing with anyone in person if he could help it--

\--and today he's silenced his phone, warning the people who might look for him that he'd be unavailable.

He couldn't turn it off entirely. He couldn't lose anyone else.

This morning he'd made coffee instead of going out and buying it to go: made in his own french press, meticulously ground and measured and steeped for exactly the right amount of time. He absently gazed at his kitchen table while he waited, and he thought about cake everywhere, about laughing and blushing, about warmth and welcome and comfortable familiarity, achingly strange. Coffee finally ready, he'd padded barefoot through his empty living room, remembering his shock at seeing Sailor Moon standing out there, waving at him.

Drinking the coffee out on the balcony brought the mental image of the worst ninja and the protective fire senshi, one protecting him and one protecting the one actually worth protecting. The walk back to the kitchen brought the recollection of the boy from his study group who'd found him in the woods and called for help, the boy with the beautiful fighter in red in his dreams somewhere. Dreams called to mind his own dreams, and the Princess who never stopped asking for his help, whose tears he wanted to brush away, who used to be the one to comfort /him/ in the dark night when he was small and alone-- and dreams called to mind the girl who rode through his and brought out a rose, and met him without him remembering--

\--and not remembering took him back to today and the todays that happened every year. Who did she meet? What was he like? Who was he?

Mamoru sat back on his motorcycle, putting on his helmet, alone with his thoughts and a backpack. It's not worth thinking about as unfair anymore, he reminded himself silently. It's not worth wasting the time. But when every hospital waking brought back the hollow emptiness of his first memory, and when every other waking brought with it the ghostly cobwebs of promises in dreams, and when no waking ever brought a sense of self? He couldn't just dismiss it, he had to remind himself, /convince/ himself to move forward.

So he moved, motorcycle roaring to life and peeling out of the garage, then driving attentively through the busy city traffic, out toward the highways.

Usually August 3rd was a routine: as soon as he'd been old enough, he insisted on going alone, and they let him, because he never asked for anything and was always studious and well-behaved. As soon as he lived alone, he planned his days out to the minute until the late afternoon, when he'd go there with some self-indulgent food and offerings for them, and just spend the rest of the day imagining, talking, trying to make sense of any of his life at all. Telling them about her, because they were the only ones he could trust not to judge him for it.

This year there's no routine. This year he's too unsettled, too offbalance, to even remember what he usually does. This year there are people he cares about, real people, flesh and blood people with needs and terrors and beautiful hearts, wounded or full, people he actually wants to help, people he /likes/-- and the person he'd do anything for, give anything to see safe and whole and smiling. It's complicated and it's inexplicable and he's sure he can trace the care, the investment, all of it -- he can trace it all back to her. To one of them, anyway. Maybe both.

As he drives, his mind effortlessly glides away from the topic of Usagi Tsukino, and he tries to blank it, to focus only on the miles his tires are inhaling. He's going there early. He needs to be alone with their indistinct photograph and their graves and what little he's been able to put together about their lives from newspaper articles, passport stamps, calendars and inherited books. He needs to tell them about her. He needs to catch them up with the well of strange his life has become since last year. He needs to imagine what they'd say to him, he needs to believe he's actually their son. He'd like to think they'd be proud of him, if only they'd lived on that today that happened eleven years ago.

Mamoru Chiba needs to try, one more time, to get his birthday right.


	14. 3 August 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later, Mamoru's birthday in 2016. Background: recovering from the Dark Kingdom arc but not yet having started Doom Tree or Black Moon Clan. Adapted 'Promise of the Rose' plotline in effect.
> 
> Takes place in a mixed-universe setting, which also includes Puella Magi Madoka Magica. This is a cutscene from an RPG, so there are other people's OCs mentioned in it as well.

He'd come there so early this year. He hadn't slept since he left the note on his pillow, the note for her, saying he'd gone out, saying he needed this day again, saying he was sorry.

"...yeah, I have a girlfriend. Who knew, right? She's the princess I was always dreaming about. Literally. And she showed up at midnight and I didn't know what to do. What to do with that. I hope I didn't screw up. She meant well. I just-- you know how I am about today."

Mamoru's sitting on the grass, a little bit sunken, in front of a stone with two names on it. Idly, he scrubs at his eyes. And then his face is wet anyway, and he scowls and scrubs at them harder. "I've got a boyfriend, too. Apparently you knew who he was. I've finally got them all back. All my guys. The others. That you were taking me to meet."

And then his head's in his hands, his elbows on his knees, and he's talking through his teeth as he hides his face from the rising sun. "And her. You knew about her, too. I bet you didn't know I'd meet her that week, huh? She came to the hospital with her dad. That was her. Her little brother was born. I'll have to tell him happy birthday. She gave me a rose. Funny, isn't it? And you remember Fiore, the boy I told you about when I turned seven. He came back too. And he died, and now he's a rosebush. One of my roses. Mako-chan made it grow, but it's from the place you were trying to--"

His voice breaks, and his head slides down in his hands until it's between his knees and his hands are gripping his hair, and he's not silent, but he doesn't have words for a few minutes.

When he does, it's his shirtsleeve that's damp, and his voice is calm, conversational, and the dew is starting to evaporate off the grass. "I don't really even know who you are. But you took care of me. And I loved you. And that's enough, isn't it? You don't have to be my parents to have been my parents. Even if I was your prince. And it's better now that I remember you. Now that you're not made up, people I made up, tacked on to faces in a blurry snapshot. People I put together from passport stamps and books and newspaper articles. And I've been catching you up every year. So I don't have to reintroduce myself--"

And his chin crumples, and this time he looks up at the sky, silent until he can speak steadily. "But-- I will."

Another moment of breathing until it's not ragged edged. "My name is Endymion."

He takes another breath, less shaky. "I have my Shitennou back, and they have their palaces back, because the Princess and her Senshi saved us and defeated Beryl and the monster from the sun. And I finally made it to 18."

It's both true and ridiculous, and it helps him breathe easier. "And I'm also Mamoru Chiba, and I have friends, and I have people I love, and who love me. And everything is different. And everything is better than it's been for so very, very long."

And then his teeth clench and he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes again, hair falling over his face as he bends his head once more, and the sky turns as rosy as Zoisite's garden as gold breaks over the mountaintops and floods the greenery with vivid light. The breeze rustles the leaves in the cemetery and it ruffles his black hair.

His voice is very quiet, very honest, and it's almost lost to a sob again. "And I finally-- really-- miss you. Actual you. Real you. I remember you."

Later, when it's not dawn, he'll go back and pick Makoto up, and they'll have their breakfast picnic, and he'll introduce her to them. She's the one who'll understand without his having to explain, who'll understand without pitying, who'll understand without trying to comfort him.

Later still, he'll do the rest of the day out of order -- ride around the countryside on his bike, take stock, be alone with himself. He'll think about doing the things he always figured he'd do if he ever managed to get his birthday right-- but he probably won't. Maybe next year. He won't cry after this.

He won't.

This day is for only crying where ghosts can see. After all, what has he got to cry about? When everything is finally so real it seems even more like a dream than the dreams he used to have, the dreams he has now?

For a moment, he can almost feel their arms around him.

That's enough, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this universe is complicated, LMAO. I just realized how much stuff in here is super idiosyncratic. Oh well. If you're curious about it you can alllllways comment! :D


	15. Exist: Dark Endymion

He’d forgotten what he was doing again, and how he’d got to where he was. He was grimy. His hands were covered in blood.

For a moment, the shell of a prince just stood in the dim, greenish hallway, the ancient stone bare of any identifying features. The place was an endless maze of twisty passages, all alike.

Slowly, he started walking. He knew where he was, despite the lack of landmarks: not far from his room.

There weren’t any footsteps behind him, but he likewise knew he wasn’t alone. It seemed to be a familiar sensation, but he didn’t especially care. He thought maybe he’d called out once, and gotten some sort of response, but he didn’t really remember and could just be imagining it’d happened. So he just kept walking, and when he got to the door that led to his quarters, it opened for him.

Convenient, since blood was messy and he didn’t like messes.

He let the armored henshin drop and looked at himself in the mirror: a face, he saw without recognising it. That didn’t really bother him either. There was a pretty reddish-blond boy with long hair leaning in the doorway behind him, watching him in the mirror. That didn’t seem remarkable, so he ignored him.

He washed his hands, staring with mild interest at the swirling rust-pink patterns in the sink as the bloody water spiraled down the drain.

A shower, he should take a shower. Rid himself of the grime. He didn’t like messes.

When he looked up again, the boy behind him was gone.

He took a shower.


	16. 3 August 2004

“Really, _really?_ ” the little boy asked again, gripping the hands of the tall man and woman at his sides, hoisting himself up and swinging on their arms for a second in thoroughly animated delight.

“Of course,” said the woman with a laugh, face shadowed by her hair, “we promised, didn’t we? When you turned six. Which, ohhh, it’s not long from now, is it?”

“TODAY, it’s TODAY!!” the child shrieked, letting go the man’s hand to hug the woman’s, then squealing as the man scooped him up to put him on his tall, tall shoulders.

“That’s right,” agreed the man, as the boy hugged his head and rested his chin in his hair. “Today we’re going up there, and if all goes well, you should meet the first of them again tonight. Now– keep in mind they won’t remember you yet.”

“I know, I know,” said the little boy, a damper put on his spirits for the first time. He ground his chin lightly into the man’s head, and the man made a small sound of protest. “Why do I have to be the only one who remembers?”

“You know why,” the woman told him with a sigh, reaching up and up to ruffle his black hair. “I know it’s not fair. But if they go looking for you before you can meet them, glory knows what could happen to them. The nightmares could take them away from you again.”

“I miss them,” the boy said softly, muffled, in the man’s hair again.

“I know, my Prince,” said the man, gently patting the child’s knee. “But take heart. You’ll start meeting them tonight, and since now we know she’s in the area too, you’ll get to meet her again soon, too, and all her friends. And this time…”

The child couldn’t suppress his cheer of pure, unadulterated joy at the news about her.

“…this time we’re watching for the problems, and we’ll have your backs until you all grow up,” finished the woman, smiling up at the little boy. They came out into the light, and there was a shiny red car parked under the trees, bright in the dappled August sunlight. “So don’t worry. You won’t be the only one who remembers for much longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Well like 2004 if Mamoru turned 18 in 2016, which is a big assumption based on Marvel's sliding timescale basically YOLO and eff you, hahaha)


	17. Dark Sonnet of Dark Prince Endymion of the Dark Dark Kingdom of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://blog.smokingbomber.com/post/127902316702/although-i-speak-in-haiku-when-im-good-and-stand

Although I speak in haiku when I’m good  
And stand atop the tallest of tall things  
This evil impulse grafted to my blood  
Requires that my stanzas be unhinged

My rhymes may not be perfect in this arc  
But I have never claimed that as a skill  
Iambic is the way of kingdoms dark  
Pentameter is how their minions kill

You think that this is proof my reason’s left  
I cannot argue logic while we skate  
Instead I’ll posture while you stare, bereft,  
And draw their aggro as I flip my cape

Tho’ brainwashed to the cause of Beryl’s boss  
O Sailor Moon, how stunning’s your lip gloss!


	18. Dark Endymion: Serious Sonnet

it's echoes in the dark, and frozen hands,  
and clinging mist that soaks through to the bone.  
it's certainty i've walked these haunted lands  
and knowing i've not always been alone.

i can't remember what i'm searching for;  
somehow these dripping caves are all that's left.  
i think i may have been here once before,  
but don't remember feeling so bereft,

for once upon a time my name was called.  
the voice that spoke it was a sound too dear,  
but name and voice, forgotten in my fall,  
are distant and may never reach me here.

so onward walk i through this endless night,  
for letting go would never grant me light.


	19. Mamoru: Sailor Moon Sonnet

Forever safely cold and locked in stone  
Resolved to keep its burdens out of sight  
The heart that cannot face the world alone  
Remains immune to freedom, life, and light

“It’s not so bad,” the dreamer will insist  
As echoes filter down from up above  
Of all the things he thought he hadn’t missed  
And loss and friendship, care, betrayal, love

Until that love with beauty bright and true  
And kindness and acceptance of the weight  
Contrives to break the prison that he knew  
And help to shoulder loneliness and fate

With disposition lightened now perforce  
Triumphant is the heart that’s shown its course


	20. Monster Socks Fanfic Fanfic: Neil vs. Buffy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Example fic for the Hypothetical Fandom Fave Challenge on Tumblr (http://senshilegionnaire.tumblr.com/post/156408242723)
> 
> ‘I could write fic or make a fanart of, say, Neil, where he is a woobie vampire accused of killing Makoto and Buffy is hunting him down,’ I said.

“She’s NOT DEAD!” yelled Neil from behind the HVAC unit on the roof of the school. As punctuation, he took off one of his shoes and threw it at the grimly perky face of the blonde Slayer holding the stake meant for his heart.

Aggravatingly, she swayed in place and the shoe sailed past her head. “So like what, you made her UNdead? That’s even worse! That’s not just 'I’ll kill my girlfriend for god knows what emo violent reason’, that’s 'I’ll kill my girlfriend for god knows what emo violent reason and make more work for Buffy and also make Buffy cry because she won’t get any more Mako-bakery goodies for moping into while wearing pajamas and watching Friends and thinking about kissing An–’ _nevermind_ it’s bad and you’re bad!”

She hurled herself up in the air and did a completely gratuitous backflip, landing behind Neil, who was already turning to block her punches and the stake, move for move. “No she’s not dead she’s literally off in Japan getting my prince’s girlfriend to come purify the stupid vampire crap out of me! That wasn’t her blood, it was KETCHUP, you dumb–”

Buffy grabbed his flowing locks of beautiful wavy brown hair and yanked. “SO YOU ADMIT TO HAVING A VAMPIRE PRINCE!” she yelled triumphantly, holding the stake over his heart.

“Jesus FUCK, Buffy! Mamoru is not a vampire he’s LITERALLY THE CROWN PRINCE OF EARTH!” Neil gasped, completely exasperated, and suplexed her into the roof of the school, sparkling henshin magic zooming across his Ninja Turtles t-shirt and cutoff jean shorts.

Buffy stared up at him, upside down, squinting, and not especially moving. She knew Mamoru, and there was no way that super hot superdork was a vampire, prince or otherwise. So she focused on Neil’s outfit. “You know, most vampires get these ugly Klingon faces when they lose their tempers? I’m just saying, like. They don’t turn into cosplayers?”

Neil tossed his head, hair flipping behind him– and his cape– and his Shitennou uniform, cream-colored with gold trim– and that damn hair practically sparkled on its own, waving unfairly lushly in the sudden breeze. His red-brown eyes flashed triumphantly at the bemused Slayer and he struck a pose. “ _ShTENoh_ ,” he said, emphasizing it strangely; it didn’t sound like words to Buffy. “Me and the guys are Mamoru’s–”

“Um, and someone really should have told you by now that long hair plus cape equals nineties Superman.”

“If Kain can get away with it,” Neil huffed, “I can do it better.”


	21. 3 August 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RP Mamoru's bday update cutscene hi.

“I’m cautiously optimistic,” he told them, sitting on his heels on a cloth in front of their memorial stones, twisting a piece of grass between his fingers. “No one’s seriously tried to kill or abduct me this year.” 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

Returning to his old routine, Mamoru’d been increasingly withdrawn for the days leading up to his birthday, even if he felt foolish about letting himself brood. But it wasn’t brooding, was it? It was mourning: part of what’d defined him for so long, silently and in the background, in this life. And maybe they wouldn’t have wanted him to celebrate his birthday this way, maybe they would have wanted him to go to the Tsukinos for that cake Kenji promised. But he couldn’t. Not when it had cost them everything to save him and they weren’t ever coming back. Not when he had his own tradition to uphold. 

He’d gone to bed alone by choice, which was a choice he recognised as precious; he’d awakened as early as he had last year, considerably before dawn. He’d had to ask Kunzite not to make the coffee when he got up, so that Mamoru could do it himself, grinding beans and making a pot for everyone else after making his own in his french press. Then he’d set out as the sky went from black to grey, packing his motorcycle bags with lunch and water, gardening and cleaning tools, incense, photographs of the people who meant the most to him– and his final high school report card and the grades from his exams. 

Sitting on his motorcycle outside the city, he’d gazed at the small gated cemetery, full of trees and monuments and shady paths, and taken his helmet off slowly. He should have asked Kazuo earlier. It would have been polite, it would have been considerate. But he hadn’t actually decided until then. Last year he’d asked Makoto to come meet them, and this year– well, he hadn’t been sure if he wanted them to himself again, if he wanted the day to himself again. 

But he’d met Hiroshi Takeba. And Hiroshi had gotten Kazuo to visit his mother. And Kazuo had been impacted by this day thirteen years ago, and his life had taken such a different shape than it might have otherwise – just as his own had. Mamoru knew that now. Mamoru also knew, now, that Kunzite had lost his parents two years before he came to be Endymion’s guard– parents who had died to protect the Crown Prince, just as the Chibas had in this life. 

He sent a text, and then got off his motorcycle and wheeled it into the memorial park. 

Bags slung off his shoulders beside the monument, Mamoru unpacked them and went to work cleaning the stone and trimming the climbing roses he’d planted there in October, when he went to talk to his parents – he’d decided to call them his parents after all; it was a worthy habit, even if he addressed them now as he had when he was small – after their first encounter with Sailor Earth. 

His fingers traced the kanji on the stone, finally, and he lit the incense. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

The piece of grass was somewhat the worse for wear at this point, so he picked three to replace it and began to braid them together as he spoke. “Except for Sailor Earth, really, who hasn’t actually tried. We still haven’t figured out who she is. I wish you could tell me if there was anything like her back then, or if there was anything I should know about her– if you knew anything about her. She can’t be who she says she is, that’s obvious. But at the same time, there’s a chance she could be related somehow…” 

Then Mamoru shook his head firmly, twisting the braided grass. “That’s the only reason I’m even bringing her up again. The important things today– we celebrated a year free of the Dark Kingdom this past spring, only a few days before so many people visited graves for the sixth anniversary of 3.11– they still need doctors there, you know? Of course they do. All over Sendai…” he trailed off. 

Rallying, he added with a tone of growing indignation, “But there are other people even here in Tokyo who need doctors too. I met a girl who made a deal with the devil to be a girl physically… and to get her out of it, and to get her treatment and eventually surgery, we had to work with doctors in Thailand. Can you believe it? There’s practically no one here who will go near people with that problem. They say it’s impossible. They THINK it’s impossible. So I have to help, that’s something I have to help with, and it’s not even something I can do with my healing… but it’s okay, I’m in medical school now. And I made it to nineteen.” 

That was smug. That was smug and grateful. Grateful and humble– and smug. “Which means I’m the SAME AGE as Nephrite and Jadeite now. Even if it’s not for a whole year. We found Neph’s family! He finally ate his memorybeans and remembered who he is, and he’s going to contact his Aunt Sandra and his relatives back there– I can’t wait to meet her. He’s sure she’ll love me and Mako and everyone else. I think she would have liked you two, too. She probably would have given you guff, oji-san, but she’d have had so much in common with you, oba-san. What I remember about you, anyway… you had to put up with a lot, didn’t you? And you had to be my teachers too. What a mess.” 

Finally, Mamoru fell silent, tying the braided grass into a ring and draping it off the top of the stone. He let his fingers trace over the kanji again, 陽向 and 千代子, and he sighed. No tears this year. Not yet, anyway. “Should we have brunch while we wait for Kazuo? He’ll come, I know he will. I asked him to. I think–” 

His hand dropped. “I think he wants to apologize,” the prince said wryly. “He was all of thirteen and thinks he could have done something to save you. Thinks he should have been there. I wish you could tell him it’s not his fault. And boy, do I wish you could talk to his dad… I keep messing things up with him. He’s so broken that any attempt I make to fix him is altogether too hamfisted. But you’d been planning to, hadn’t you? They were supposed to come to the school that day… but the accident happened, and it sent Kazuo to the hospital too, and when Takeba-san came to see the school, the magic had cleaned it up and it looked abandoned. And all that time you were sitting on the door to Jadeite’s palace…” 

Endymion shook his head again, reaching up to knuckle his eyes. “You’re a thirteen-year-old mystery, the two of you. And that house. And everything about us… but I can tell you one thing for sure. Unless my birth parents think I’m dead, or are dead themselves, then I don’t care about them at all, blood aside. And that’s one thing I have to– no, just want to– want to insist, over and over, but I don’t because Kunzite’s doing it even if he doesn’t want to– his father tried to find him. He tried. He made the effort. That’s worth more than all the blood in the world if they’re alive and haven’t even bothered to look for me.” 

Silence, then a half-laugh. “Kunzite,” he said without looking up, “are you going to keep lurking, or are you going to come say hello? This is Chiba Hinata and Chiba Chiyoko– oji-san, oba-san, this is Takeba Kazuo.” 

And there: ocean-dark blue eyes look up and over at Kunzite, and they’re finally overbright, though Mamoru’s face is smiling. “They talk even less than you do.”


End file.
